


Fabricated Life

by orphan_account



Series: Leia [2]
Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I Have No Idea How To Tag This Thing, I hope, Mystery(-ish?), Origional Character is a Child, Sequel to 'Leia', Supernatural - Freeform, You Can't Mess Up OC Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3364199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wakes up on a painting, not knowing who he was, how he got there, or where he was. It all went downhill from there.</p><p>Sequel to 'Leia'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fabricated Life

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I felt like giving Garry a POV from 'Leia', and it just kind of escalated... 
> 
> Yeah. 
> 
> The only reason why this is called 'Fabricated Life', is because I couldn't think of a better one. 
> 
> Oh, also, there is graphic violence in this fic, and other nice things. You should probably be fine if you've gone through Leia without throwing up. The only reason why I've rated this 'General' is because Ib's a horror game, and I can expect that the majority of readers here is used to horrory images. So there you go. 
> 
> Before you read this, it might be a good idea to read Leia first, because this will probably make more sense if you do so.
> 
> Please report spelling/grammar mistakes. 
> 
> And lastly: I sincerely apologize for the intensly crappy action scene towards the end. I'm absolutely horrible at actions scenes. If anybody can give me advice about them, please do. I also apologize for the ending in general. It sucks, and I have no idea how to change it. I hope it's not too sappy. 
> 
> Enjoy.

He woke up on top of a painting.  
He blinked.  
What was he doing?

Where was he?

Who was he?

For a while, he didn't move. He just lay there on the painting, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember anything.

Finally, he shook his head and got up.

That's when he noticed the rose.

The thorns pricked him in the hand when he tried to lean on it. He sat up straight and brought it up before his eyes. The blue petals didn't provide any answers.

He sighted and stood up fully. He looked down on the painting he had lain on. A young girl stared back at him. She had a red rose in her hand, brought up to her face, and lay in equally red roses. She looked like she was sleeping.

He stared at her. He had this nagging feeling, this feeling that told him he should remember something, but he didn't. He simply stared at the girl's face, trying to comprehend what was going on.

When he couldn't, he walked out of the room.

He entered another room. The room was decorated by a couch, a table, a TV, and a closet. The floor was covered by a red carpet.

On the table, there lay a piece of paper. He picked the paper up. There were black lines and circles on it. He felt like it should mean something, but it didn't.

Nevertheless, he pocketed the paper. Maybe somebody else could tell him what was up with it.

He opened another door, and saw a long room. There were stairs leading upstairs. He looked at them, then shook his head, and decided that it wasn't worth the walk. Somehow, he doubted he would find any answers there. Instead, he walked down the long room, and opened the door at the end of it.

Loud noises assaulted his ears. Flashes of metal raced past him, houses looked down on him, the sky was blue, and he almost closed the door to go inside again. Before he could do so, however, a woman approached him.

She smiled friendly at him and began chatting.

'Oh my, are you Ib's boyfriend? I never would've guessed! That young woman looked like she only had interest in painting, especially after her parents died. Anyway, I'm glad that she has somebody. I would've gone to visit her myself, you know, but she was always so antisocial that I was scared that I would simply annoy her. What's your name?'

The woman stared at him expectantly. He had trouble keeping his mind from shutting down. This was too much, too soon.

'Now dear, don't be shy! I just asked what your name was.'

His mouth finally worked, and he answered:

'I don't know.'

The words felt weird, new, as if he had never done this before. His mouth was dry, and his lips looked like chipped paint.

The woman blinked surprised. Then, her mouth tightened.

'This isn't funny. What's your name?'

He shook his head. He didn't know.

The woman sighted.

'Don't tell me, then. Can you at least tell me how Ib's doing? We haven't seen her since yesterday. This isn't really anything to worry about in itself, she disappears for days regularly, but she has been acting weird for a while now, and we're worried. My husband and I, that is.'

He shook his head again. 'I don't know.' The words sounded stronger this time, more secure, and he was proud of himself.

The woman frowned.

'What don't you know?'

He struggled to find the correct words.

'How Ib is. Who she is. Am I supposed to know?'

The woman looked at him, speechless. Then, her eyes flamed up with fury.

'How do you mean "I don't know who Ib is"? You just wandered out of her house, for Christ's sake!'

His mouth opened and a few times before he found the words. 'I did?'

'Yes, yes you did,' the woman looked irritated. 'You know, young woman, long, black hair, brown eyes, almost always dressed in a skirt?'

Suddenly, he felt some pieces falling into place. 'Like the woman in the portrait?'

'What portrait?'

'The one I woke up on.'

The woman looked at him like he was crazy. He was getting a bit irritated.

'Here, I'll show you.'

He grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. Within no time, they stood above the painting he woke up on. He pointed to it.

'See? That one.'

The woman looked at the painting. Her mouth was hanging open. She stretched out a hand towards it. 'Beautiful,' she muttered. 'I never knew Ib could paint like this.'

He didn't like that look in her eyes. She looked hypnotized, almost as if something was pulling her in. 'Woman?' he asked.

That seemed to snap her out of it. She looked up at him, eyes narrowing. He had the feeling that he had done something wrong.

'Erm,' he said, uncomfortably shifting with his foot. 'Do you know why I woke up here?'

'How am I supposed to know? You fell asleep here? How did you end up here?'

He shook his head.

'I can't remember anything.'

The woman stared at him in perplexedly. 'Nothing?'

'Nothing.'

Her eyes seemed to pierce through him.

'Do you have any hint?'

He opened his mouth and was about to say no, but then he remembered the paper in his pocket. So, instead he dug that out of his coat and handed it to the woman.

She read through it, and she looked up at him.

'Well, why didn't you call him, then?'

He didn't understand.

'I don't understand.'

'Why didn't you do what she told you to?'

He still didn't understand.

'I spoke with nobody but you.'

'No, no, she wrote it down.'

He frowned. He looked at the piece of paper. Was it a message?

'Is it a message?'

The woman looked at him carefully.

'Can you read?' she asked.

He didn't know what reading was, exactly, so he just shook his head.

The woman looked skeptical, but read the message out loud anyway.

' _"Dear Garry,_ " it said. " _Sorry I couldn't be there when you woke up. Don't panic, everything is going to be alright. Just call Guertena. He'll know what to do. His number is: 03140964501. Good luck. I love you, Ib._ " '

He didn't understand. He. Didn't. Understand!

He wanted to scream, to punch something. He didn't understand a single thing, and he was SO SICK OF IT! Was 'Garry' his name? Who was this 'Guertena'? How did you 'call' someone? Why was that number important? And why did this 'Ib' say she loved him? Was she, like the woman said, his girlfriend? That didn't seem right. More like... like...

He growled frustrated. He couldn't think of anything.

The woman looked at him strangely. Why didn't she stop doing that?

He took a deep breath.

Alright. Panicking was bringing him nowhere. He needed to calm down.

He breathed out.

Okay. What did he know?

Well, he knew several things:

1\. His name was most likely Garry.

2\. This 'Ib' apparently knew him.

3\. He needed to call Guertena, whose number was 03140964501.

He looked at the woman.

'Could you call Guertena for me?'

This time, the woman didn't ask any questions. She walked up to the phone and used it.

So calling was using the phone. He needed to remember that.

The woman started talking to the horn, which he found a bit strange, but hey, he didn't know anything. Literally.

She hang up a few minutes later, and announced that Guertena was coming to pick him up. He thanked her, and sat down on the couch.

He stared at the painting until he heard the door open.

~

Guertena was strange.

When he first saw Garry, Guertena had stared at him with a giddy expression on his face, and also something that seemed like a mixture between wonder and respect. He had looked him over from top to toe, before grabbing his arm roughly and caressing it.

'So, she succeeded,' he muttered, grinning wildly at him.

After that, he became calmer.

Guertena didn't explain Garry where he came from, how he knew him, or what he meant with 'So, she succeeded'. He did explain who Ib was. The problem was that it didn't make sense.

'She's your mother,' he'd said in the car, on the way to his house. 'She died shortly ago. That painting was her last piece. A self-portrait.'

He didn't think that was true. He was relatively young, probably somewhere in his twenties. The woman said that Ib was a young woman, meaning somewhere between her twenties or early thirties at most. If he was twenty and she was also around that age, then she couldn't be his mother.

That meant that Guertena was lying.

Garry didn't tell Guertena that he knew he was lying, of course. That would only cause trouble.

So he kept his mouth shut and went with it.

~

He and Guertena were trying to figure out what he remembered, and what he didn't. So far, they found that he could recognize most objects, but didn't know how to use them. He couldn't read or write, nor do any math. He didn't know the most basic science, didn't understand social cues, and couldn't tie his shoes.

They also found that he didn't remember anything about himself, but Guertena didn't seem too worried about that. Garry was. More than anything else, he wanted his memories back.

He could learn all the other things. He had already learnt that the Earth went around the sun (which was a star. He didn't know what that was, yet), he could count to ten, and had managed to write his name. He knew that, in time, he would be able to learn everything.

Memories, however, could not be learnt.

He wanted to know who his parents were. He wanted to remember who his friends were. He wanted to remember going to the cinema, he wanted to remember his mother's goodnight kiss, he wanted to remember the playground he used to play on, he wanted to remember going to school and being bored to death in classes. He wanted to remember everything, anything, about his life.

But, as time passed and he learnt to do many things, he didn't learn how to remember.

~

He found Mary during his sixth day at the mansion.

He had been wandering the hallways, looking at the different portraits. He liked the paintings. They were beautiful, painted like they could jump out of their frames any time. He felt a strange kinship with them, and liked to be in their company.

He stopped when he was at the painting of Ib.

Guertena had decided to take it with him, stating that he didn't want her last masterpiece to be destroyed. Garry didn't know why it would be destroyed, but he hadn't objected. The painting held a strange place in his heart, as it was the first thing he'd seen.

But this was the first time he'd seen it in Guertena's gallery. He wondered why it hang here.

Looking to the painting's right, he got his answer.

The painting hung next to another one. The girl had long, blond hair, a green dress, and a yellow rose brought to her face. She was alive. Just like Ib, she was alive.

He stared at her. This was strange.

He almost jumped a meter in the air when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

'M-m-mister Guertena!' he stuttered. 'I didn't see you.'

Guertena smiled friendly at him, his eyes twinkling.

'Sorry I startled you. I didn't mean to.'

He nodded and looked back at the painting. Guertena followed his gaze and smiled even wider.

'Ah, I see you found Mary.'

Guertena stretched out his hand to touch her face, but withheld before he could do so. 'Beautiful, isn't she?'

'Yes, she is. Her name's Mary?'

Guertena nodded, without taking his eyes of the painting.

'Yes. Yes. My daughter Mary.'

He was surprised. He hadn't seen any children around the house, nor had he seen a wife.

'I didn't know you had children. Could you introduce me to her?'

'I can't. She's not in this world.'

His mouth went dry.

'Is she... dead?'

Guertena finally looked at him. The look in his eyes was filled with sorrow, and something else he couldn't identify?

'She was never born.'

He abruptly turned around and gestured Garry to follow him. 'Come on. It's time for your lessons.'

Garry cast a last glance to the painting, before following him.

~

When he had lived with Guertena for three months, he got a sister.

Guertena had announced that he had adopted a six-year-old girl, and was going to pick her up. Half an hour later, a small child walked into the room, followed by a proud Guertena.

She was small, barely reaching his hip. Her brown, curly hair reached her shoulders, and her the loose strands over her forehead almost hid her large green eyes. Freckles were splattered on her face, like someone had waved a wet paintbrush at her. She stood right before him and took him in with a critical eye.

'Garry, I want you to meet Emily. Emily, this is Garry, your big brother.'

The girl looked up at him. He knelt down in front of her, smiling.

'Hey, Emily. I'm Garry. I hope we'll like each other.'

Emily said nothing, until:

'Your hair is weird.'

He blinked, before crossing his arms.

'There's nothing wrong with my hair! Purple is a very beautiful color.'

She mimicked his pose and looked stubbornly at him.

'It is weird! I've never seen anybody with that hair color!'

She seemed to think for a little while.

'You look like a lady.'

He laughed a high laugh, trying to hide his grin with his hand. Uselessly, of course. Emily gestured at his face.

'See! You laugh like a lady, too! Why do you do that?'

He laughed even harder, but Emily kept looking at him with a deadly serious expression.

It took a while, but when he was done, he lay his hands on her shoulders. She looked at him expectantly.

'I'm not trying to act like a lady. But if you want, I can.'

He threw his hair backwards with a feminine gesture, and Emily giggled.

That was when Garry knew that everything was going to be alright.

~

In the months afterwards, he and Emily really seemed to hit it off.

He found out that Emily's whole family – mother, father, and brother – had died in a car crash when she was five. She hadn't been in the car, and so she had been the only survivor. She had been in the foster system for a year when Guertena adopted her.

Despite all this, she was a remarkably lively child. She often played pranks on him, making a nuisance of herself.

Her most notorious prank was the Catching Eyes Prank, as he had begun calling it. He remembered it clearly. He had woken up one day and unsuspectingly opened his eyes, only to see another eye stare back. He yelled like a little girl, while his ears could barely pick up the laughter of the real little girl behind him. She sounded hysterical.

Later, he found out that the eyes were made out of styrofoam, and Emily had drawn the eyes on it with pensels, after which she had proceeded to glue them to the ceiling with super glue. She had refused to tell him how she had reached it in the first place, but honestly, Garry didn't want to know.

Other pranks included toothpaste in the shampoo bottle, peanut butter in Guertena's shoes and a bucket with confetti above his bedroom's door.

So yeah, Emily was a little troublemaker, and a lot of times, she annoyed the hell out of him.

Most of the time, he absolutely loved her.

She was cheerful, stubborn, funny, and creative. She dumped the craziest ideas on him ('Garry, can we go to Paris today? Ah, why not? Well, then we'll make the Eifel Tower out of toothpicks!), but also tried to help where she could. When she found out that he didn't know anything about his past live, he caught her in the attic, proclaiming that she was 'searching for the missing memories in the dustiest place possible'. She taught him basic social lessons ('When a stranger offers you candy on the street, say no.'), and introduced him to many things. Some things he didn't like so much, like My Little Pony or Barbie, and other things he liked, like Disney and theme parks.

And then you had macaroons.

She had introduced him to them on November 13th, directly after he came to pick her up from school. She had ran up towards him, grabbed his arm and started pulling him along with her before he even knew what was happening.

'Emily, where're we going?'

'To The Lady With The Umbrella.'

He looked at her with confused eyes.

'Why would we go to a lady with an umbrella? It's sunny!'

Emily sighted deeply, then made a _tch_ with her mouth, as she always did when he said something stupid.

'We're not going to an _actual_ lady, you idiot. It's a candy shop, and they're selling macaroons!'

'Maca-what?'

'Macaroons! Don't tell me you've never heard of them?' Emily stared at him with wide, horrified eyes.

'Erm...'

'They're the best! They're sweet and crunchy and they're awesome! You have to try them!'

And before he knew it, they were in front of the shop.

After a few social lessons ('First, you greet the cashier, then you wait until he asks: "Can I have your order?" or something similar, and then, you tell him your order. Rinse and repeat by every shop.'), they wandered outside with a bag full macaroons. Emily stuffed one in her mouth and grinned.

'You too!'

She held out the bag towards him. He took it and, a bit cautiously, bit into a green, hamburger shaped sweet.

It was pure heaven.

At that moment, with the soft, sugary inside on his tongue, he didn't long for his past life, and honestly forgot that he had one before this.

 _And maybe,_ he realized, as he picked out another green one, _maybe that wasn't so bad._

~

Emily had been with them for three months when it all went to hell. Or rather, that was when Garry finally noticed that they were on the highway to it.

He would've loved to say that he had figured it out by the signs he'd been given. Guertena was becoming quieter and quieter, locking himself in his atelier. The times that he was around them, he spent looking at Garry in a longing way, and then smiling at Emily. The smile wasn't a nice smile, even though that didn't make sense, since smiles were meant to be nice. This one had a more... creepy edge.

Then there were had the times he caught him staring at Mary. There had been a lot of these, and once, Garry had even caught him trying to stroke her hair and talking to her in a hushed tone.

Even though he was worried, he forgot about it fast, writing it of as fatigue from the time he spent working in his atelier.

He shouldn't have done that. He knew that, later, but as of present, he had no idea.

Later, he would say that the signs had been there. That he should've paid more attention to them. That he should've noticed them.

But he didn't.

Instead, he found out by stupid, stupid luck.

~

'Mister Guertena?'

Garry pushed open the door, trying to balance the tray with food. He and Emily had made some scrambled egg, and they had decided to also give some to Guertena.

'Mister Guertena? I have some food here.'

He looked in the room. Blinked.

There was nobody there.

Frowning, he did a step forward.

'Mister –'

_CLANG!_

The tray went flying out of his hands, spilling the milk everywhere, shattering the plate on the floor, and throwing the scrambled egg all across the room. Garry looked down and groaned. Just his luck.

Swiftly, he knelt down and started gathering the broken pieces of plate.

That's when he noticed it.

One of the wooden floorboards was loose.

A piece of glass had fallen right on top of it, and when he picked it up, he noticed the movement of the board.

Curiously, he pulled it up and peered underneath it.

In the hole, there was a little notebook.

For a moment, he felt conflicted. If Guertena had gone through all the trouble to hide it here, it must've been something private. He wasn't supposed to read that. He should just ignore it and go back to cleaning up the mess he made.

But what did Guertena have to hide?

After a battle of minutes, the curiosity won over his conscious over. He looked around quickly to see if anyone was there, and when nobody was, he quietly slipped the notebook in the waistband of his jeans, hiding it with his T-shirt.

He finished cleaning, and practically ran back to his room. Sitting on his bed, he glanced around, before pulling the notebook out of his waistband.

It turned out that it wasn't so much a notebook as a diary.

Reading it, he slowly, slowly, turned to stone.

҉

_August 17, 2004_

_I met the most curious woman today. Her name is Ib Eve and she paints like no one I've ever seen before. I'm still better than her, but not by much. She's only twenty, too! What talent. Maybe I'll buy something of off her._

_March 6, 2005_

_I bought a painting of a house from Eve. The lighting and shadows give the painting a unique atmosphere, something calm and tragic. I like it. She's also very good at portraits. I've seen one in her atelier, unfinished. The woman is beautifully painted. Maybe I should try my hand at portraits, too. I wonder what they would become in my Fabricated World._

_April 26, 2005_

_I've painted my first portrait, The Woman in Red. It's beautiful, but not nearly good enough. It doesn't have enough life. In my Fabricated World, she ended up a wild animal. I need to try harder._

_January 16, 2006_

_I did it! I finally did it! My fourth try and, at last, I did it! I painted the perfect portrait. I call her The Woman in Yellow. On second thought, maybe I misnamed her, because she wears green. O well. I did it! I took a look in my Fabricated World, and she's alive. She has feelings, she communicates by words, and she even seems to sense my presence. O, this is wonderful! The happiest day in my entire life! I need to celebrate this. Such a shame I can't tell anyone. They'd think I was crazy. They really don't know what they're missing._

_June 11, 2006_

_Miss Eve painted an extraordinary portrait. He's easily as beautiful as my Yellow, but not alive, of course. Eve seemed quite fond of him, too, giving him a proper, human name. Garry, he's called. Maybe I should rename The Woman in Yellow too. It's impersonal. I'll think about it._

_June 13, 2006_

_Eve came to visit Mary, as I've decided to rename The Lady in Yellow. She was entranced. I must admit that I hadn't expected her to pick up the fact that she's alive, but Eve did. I'm impressed. In fact, I was so impressed that I told her how I did it. Just the right painting skills, a flower, and a few drops of blood. The look in her eyes when I told her! Obsession, hope, and longing. I think that she's gotten a bit too attached to her little portrait. I hope she tries it. I have to say that I quite like Eve, and I'm curious to see what effect my method would have without a personal gallery. Or rather, without a Fabricated World in which the painting can reside, like mine. I guess we'll have to wait and see._

_July 1, 2006_

_Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. I'm perplexed. If somebody had told me that this was possible, then I, even with my current knowledge, would've thought them to be crazy. This is... this is nothing short of a miracle._

_Ib Eve managed to bring her painting alive. And not only that, she also managed to make him real. He's currently on my sofa downstairs. He doesn't remember anything, misses basic knowledge, and I'm honestly worried about his brain capacity, but by god, he's alive and breathing. In this world._

_I don't know how Eve did it. I do know that she switched places with him. I have the proof downstairs. The painting. The painting that previously showed a young man, now shows a young woman, identical to Eve. I'm amazed. Why haven't I thought of this before?_

_It doesn't matter. I can make Mary real, now. I can finally grant her the wish she has been asking for for so long. I can make her real. I. Will. Make. Her. Real._

_July 21, 2006_

_I think I figured out how Eve did it. She offered all her blood and claimed the rose for herself instead of the boy. She also, most likely, lay on the painting while doing it. For a maximum chance of success._

_Of course, I cannot do that. I will die if I offer all my blood, and I want to live here, with Mary. But I think I found a proper substitute. The boy painting that is now real will do just fine, I think._

_August 23, 2006_

_The boy's not going to work. I drugged him last night, heavily, too. He was out like a candle, and didn't even feel me cutting in his neck. I let him bleed out on Mary, planting a rose firmly in his hand. But it didn't work. Nothing happened. Instead, I noticed something weird. The blood flowing from him had a blue color. It was faint, and without the right light I probably wouldn't have seen it at all, but it was there. The painting's blood is blue._

_That means he's not fully real. He's real enough to walk in this world, but he'll never be a full human being. Which means he can't be sacrificed. Who am I going to use now?_

_Another strange thing is that the boy stopped bleeding within minutes. I made the cut along his main artery. He shouldn't have survived, let alone stop bleeding and heal. But he did. Within an hour, the scar wasn't visible at all. Strange._

_The painting did absorb the blood. I wonder where it went._

_I need to re-evaluate my plan._

_September 3, 2006_

_I adopted a child. She's a real nuisance, but she will do as a sacrifice. Now I just need to prepare things. I cannot screw this up. I have only one change. When it comes out that the child is dead, they will not let me adopt another. Everything needs to be perfect._

_September 29, 2006_

_There has been an unforeseen barrier in the plan. I found out where the blood of the painting went. Apparently, it created a fake version of him in the Fabricated World. It's trying to escape. If it does so, the consequences are impossible to foresee. He does not belong in our world. The reason that someone needs to die in order for a painting to become real, is that the number of Real People can't change. It's not allowed to. I need to find a way to stop him._

_October 20, 2006_

_Fake Garry is proving to be more troublesome than I thought. He's smart, calculating, manipulative, and there's only so much I can do without taking physical form. He's trying to kill Mary, too. This is unacceptable. I need to find a way to stop him without killing my Fabricated World in the process._

_Real Garry is also getting annoying. He's socializing with the girl, and they seem to have formed a bond. This will make things more difficult once she dies. I need to get rid of them both, and fast._

_December 5, 2007_

_I finally fixed the Fake Garry problem. I let him think that he escaped through the Fabricated World Portrait, but made him end in a separate gallery, one that I controlled. Then, I destroyed the gallery. He's gone. I can finally begin with the final stage. Mary, soon, you will be real. Then we'll go eat ice cream, and you can go to school, and I'll be your daddy. I promise. Real soon, sweetheart. Real soon._

~

Garry's brain had just died. Stopped working. Refused to take in this new information.

_I'm a painting?_

_Ib painted me?_

_Emily is a sacrifice?_

_Fabricated World? What's that?_

_Mary's alive?_

_Blue blood?_

_Not human?_

_What... what the hell is he talking about?!_

The notebook slipped out of his hands and he stared blankly at the ground.

This isn't true.

This isn't true.

This. Isn't. TRUE!

He screamed and threw the book against the wall. He heard a soft 'bonk' as he curled up into a small little ball, cradling his head with his arms.

This can't be true. Maybe it's some stupid social cue that he doesn't understand. Maybe they're all metaphors. Yes, of course! The words are all metaphors! Because there's no way that this is real. No way. Absolutely no way.

 _You don't know that,_ You can't remember anything from your past, can you. Nobody has ever seen you before. What's to say that you didn't exist? You didn't even know how to read and write. How do you know that you existed to begin with?

 _I just do,_ he answered stubbornly.

_Do you? Do you really? How?_

_I just know it!_

_Have you checked? There's a very easy way to check, you know. Just cut open your hand. If your blood's blue, then you're not human. If it's red, then you are. Simple._

_I've seen my own blood before. It's red._

_Ah, but you've only seen it in regular lamp light, haven't you? What did the book say? 'Without proper lighting, I probably wouldn't have seen it,' right? He probably lit his basement with candles, seeing as it was a ceremony. Try it. Hold your blood in the light of a flame, and see if it's blue._

_Fine!_

He stood up from the bed and practically ran towards the drawer that contained the scissors. He grabbed them, and then, from the other drawer, a lighter. He braced himself and slid the scissors over the palm of his hand, effectively cutting the skin. A stab of pain ran through him, but he paid it no heed. Instead, he flicked on the lighter with his good hand, and held the blood close to the flame.

He froze.

It had a blue-ish tint.

Blue blood.

He had blue blood.

The lighter fell to the floor helplessly, just as he did. He brought his hands to his face and cried.

He wasn't human. He was a total outsider, an alien, a monster. An innocent woman had to die before he could live. He had sucked her right in, forcing her to trade places with him. He was a murderer. A murderer.

Suddenly, he laughed. He laughed like a maniac.

All this time, he'd wanted to know his past. He'd wanted to know where he came from. He wanted to know it so desperately, that he would've done anything to know it. Anything.

And now that he knew, he wanted nothing more than to forget.

His eye fell on the calendar and he froze.

December 13.

It was more than a week since the last entry in the diary.

His blood went cold.

Guertena would try to bring Mary to life soon. He would kill Emily.

Kill Emily.

That shook him awake. He couldn't let her die. She was so young, so innocent, like a younger sister to him. He couldn't let her die. He couldn't.

He wouldn't.

He balled his fists and rose.

He would save her.

He would.

They needed to get out of here as fast as they could.

He stood up, pocketed the lighter, and opened his door.

~

She wasn't in her room.

Nor in the bathroom.

Nor in the living room.

Gaary ran through the halls, panicky, throwing doors open at random, calling out for the girl. But no matter how many doors he opened, the girl wasn't hiding behind them, laughing her ass off, or rolling her eyes at him.

Where was she?!

He had searched half the mansion when a chill ran down his spine.

It had been more than a week since the last diary entry. What if...

His eyes widened so much that, under different circumstances, it would've been funny. He abruptly changed directions and headed towards the Private Gallery of Guertena.

He didn't stop running until he stood right in front of the painting.

Or rather, until he stood right in front of the place where the painting used to hang. Now, there was just a piece of wall, whereas there should've been the face of a little blond girl.

His breath stopped.

No.

NO!

Guertena had already started.

Part of his brain wondered why Guertena didn't wait until nightfall, or until he was out of the house. There would've been less change of discovery, that way.

But then again, the guy was crazy. He didn't expect crazy people to think logically.

_This is not the time, Garry!_

It was not the time. He needed to save Emily, not ponder over insanity.

He dug his nails in the palm of his hands. Step one: where could she be? Where would Guertena attempt such a ritual?

The basement, duh.

The basement.

The basement.

Where was it again?

He tried to will his brain to think. Where was the basement?

At the end of the gallery.

He wasted no time before he started running towards his memory of the basement door. It should be at the end of this gallery. Guertena kept all his failed works there, the ones that he wanted to keep out of sight. He wanted to keep this out of sight, too.

He passed a lot of paintings on his way to Emily. He saw a wall full ogres, twin portraits of a bride and groom, a series of people in different colored clothes and no faces, a few headless statues and a lot of creepy dolls and bunnies.

When he finally faced the basement door, he opened it with so much force that he literally fell in.

The sight he saw then would haunt him for the rest of his pathetic life.

Emily seemed deep asleep, dumped over Mary's portrait like a rag doll. Candles surrounded them in a perfect circle, and something that looked like a star was scribbled on the floor beneath them.

That wasn't what terrified him. No, what terrified him was Guertena.

He was kneeling next to Emily, whispering something, with a soft, peaceful smile on his face and a knife in his hand.

As he fell in, Guertena looked in his direction and saw his fallen form. His smile became wider. Garry looked him in the eye, and madness stared back at him.

'Ah, Garry, I see you've chosen to join us.'

He didn't move out of his position and stayed kneeled next to Emily. The knife in his hand was dangerously close to her neck.

Garry didn't even try to stop and chitchat. He went straight for the kill.

Later, when he sat in his chair by the fire and recounted his experience, he would wonder what he was thinking. Guertena was stronger than him, had the advantage of still being fit as opposed to being tired from running, and, above all, had a knife. The truth is, Garry didn't think. He saw his little sister at the brink of death, and went for it.

Guertena hadn't expected it either. He was so overwhelmed that he didn't notice what was happening until Garry was already above him, grabbing the knife from his hands and throwing it far away.

Even so, he just smiled.

For a while, they stared at each other.

Garry was panting hard, the time he spent running finally catching up with him. He had Guertena's hands pinned above his head, and his body weight prevented him from moving. Guertena was rendered completely helpless.

So why was the bastard smiling?

'There's no reason to get violent, Garry. Can't we talk this out, like real men?'

Rage flamed up in his stomach, prompting him to bring his face as close to the man beneath him as possible, before spitting in his face:

'You were going to kill Emily in some sick ritual to raise a girl that doesn't even exist. You're crazy, and you're going to rot in jail.'

Guertena shook his head sadly.

'You know, I pity you, boy. All alone in this world, that's what you are. You have nobody. No friends, no family, and nowhere to go.'

Guertena smiled.

'Even if you manage to get me in jail, what good would that do to you? You need me, and you know it. You haven't had a proper education, you have no money, no job possibilities. Where will you live when I'm out of the picture? You're too old for foster care, at least, that's what they think. And Emily, where will she go? Back to foster care? Nasty things happen in there, Garry. Do you really want to condemn her to that?'

'What's the alternative? Let her die?'

Guertena clacked his tongue. 'No, no, she won't die. She'll live on, just... not in this world. Hell,' he laughed harshly ' where do you think Ib is right now? Gone? Oh no, my dear, she just traded places with you.'

His smile turned dangerous.

'Speaking of which, where were you before she traded places?'

It felt like a maul was swung into his stomach. It took all his power to stay upright.

'You say that I'm trying to give life to someone who doesn't exist. You're absolutely right. But is that such a bad thing? For the longest time, you didn't exist. You despise what I'm doing, Garry, but aren't you a bit of a hypocrite? You, too, didn't exist. You were brought to life by the blood of an innocent girl, a girl just like Emily.'

He paused.

'What does that make you, then? A murderer? A monster?'

'Shut up!' he suddenly yelled. He let go of Guertena's hands and pressed his fingers around his neck instead. 'Shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP!'

He pressed down on the neck, rage coursing through his body.

'I'm not a monster! I'm not! I didn't want this! I didn't –'

Suddenly, he felt a hard blow to his head. His grip around the neck loosened and he fell down, his head throbbing in pain and his thoughts sluggish.

He felt Guertena pushing his body off of him, and heard his footsteps walking away. He wanted to move, to run after him, but his body wouldn't listen to him.

The footsteps stopped, then started approaching him. Before long, he saw Guertena's sad face above him. He also saw the knife.

'I... kill... you'

Garry didn't care about what he was saying, or about the fact that the words didn't really came through. His arms! He could move his arms again.

'You... could... been... company... Mary.'

He inched closer to his pocked, which held the only available weapon. He tried to wiggle his toes, and he could. He could move his legs again. He didn't hear what Guertena was saying, too focused on survival.

'You're... miracle. Came alive... a little blood.'

His fingers closed around the lighter.

Above him, Guertena raised the knife.

'Too bad that your life was so short lived. Bye bye.'

Guertena brought the knife down as he rolled out of the way. He barely registrated the look of surprise on his face as he brought up the lighter. He held it to Guertena's face, and flicked it on.

The fire caught his eye.

Guertena screamed in pain, clutching his eye. He dropped the knife and stumbled backwards, kicking over a candle. It fell on Mary's portrait. Garry snagged Emily's body of off it and threw the painting as far away as possible. He never wanted to see it again.

He should've looked where he threw it.

It landed on a heap of other paintings, and before he knew it, the fire was spreading rapidly.

'NO!'

The scream came from Guertena, who was sitting on his knees, still clutching his eye. His uninjured one looked at the paintings in horror.

'No! Mary! Mary!'

He crawled towards the painting and, paying no heed to the flames, hugged it.

'Daddy's here, sshh, sshh, daddy's here, sweetheart.'

The man kept hissing reassurances to the little girl. The fire hugged him to, catching his clothes and his hair in a fairly short time. Before he knew it, the man was engulfed in the flames, still hugging his beloved daughter.

Garry watched this all in horror, before realizing the fire was spreading through the room. He needed to get out of here.

'Emily? Emily, wake up! You need to wake up!'

He shook the girl, but she didn't move a muscle. Understanding that she wasn't going to any time soon, Garry scooped her up in his arms and ran out of the basement. With one last glance back towards the flaming madman, he closed the door behind him.

~

He passed the same portraits as before, only this time with a sleeping child in his arms. He should feel scared, he realized; there was a raging fire in the basement, that could quite possibly spread through the whole house. But he wasn't. He watched the peaceful, unknowing girl in his arms, and felt safer than he'd ever been.

Before he knew it, he passed a familiar portrait. He stopped to look at it, even though he knew he should hurry to get outside before the fire got to him.

But he couldn't help it. He stared at the woman in the painting, the one that gave him this life, and that now looked so peaceful. He wanted to touch it, to see if he could feel his creator.

Creator was the wrong word. 'Creator' implied 'God', which she wasn't. Not by a long shot. She was more like... like...

Like a mother.

The woman on the wall was his mother.

He couldn't let her hang here. If he did, she would certainly be destroyed. Then, he looked down on the girl in his arms, and realized that he wouldn't be able to carry both the painting and her.

If he let one stay here, they would be swallowed by flames. He didn't have enough time to make two trips to the gallery; he could already see the fire from out the corners of his eye.

One would have to stay behind.

He looked at the sleeping, brown haired painting, then at the sleeping, brown haired girl.

His mother or his sister.

There wasn't even a choice to make.

With a last, painful glance at the painting, he started running.

'I'm sorry.'

~

Emily woke up and the first thing she felt was Garry's coat. She was pressed against his chest, buried in the warmth of his body. She tried to crawl deeper into it, to escape from the coldness outside.

Cold?

She looked up and saw red.

Flames were jumping out of the roof, eating the wood, exploding the house. The mansion was on fire, and all she could do was stare as her former home was destroyed.

Tears started to form in her eyes.

'Garry?'

Soft, blue eyes looked down at her. Relieve shone in his eyes as he hugged her close to his chest.

'You're okay,' he muttered 'Thank goodness, you're okay.'

She pushed him away and turned around to get a better look on the house. A part of it collapsed.

'What happened?'

It was quiet for a long time. The silence lay like a barrier in between them, and seemed to get bigger with the minute.

Finally, Garry looked down at her. Something she couldn't identify played in his eyes.

'I don't know what to say,' he whispered softly, almost drowned by the sound of destruction. 'I don't want to lie to you, but I don't want to tell the truth, either.'

She looked into his tired eyes and nodded.

'Okay. Just answer one question?'

'Which one?'

'Where's Guertena?'

Garry balled his fists and looked away from her, staring into the flames.

'Dead.'

They didn't say anything for a long time. After a while, Emily grabbed her brother's hand. He looked down at her and smiled, before looking back at the fire.

They stood there for what felt like an eternity, hand in hand, a giant campfire before them.

Just two shadows against the rose-red canvas.


End file.
